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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29314302">A Little Magic For Your Madness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nik0li/pseuds/nik0li'>nik0li</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream SMP works [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU - Fantasy, Dream Smp, Enchanted Bakery AU, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:08:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29314302</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nik0li/pseuds/nik0li</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream's rather unconventional bakery draws the eyes of many, whether his customers are struggling commoners or nobles. While his range of constant business has always been relatively small, things are constantly changing and start to change more with the introduction of a few new elements in life... including the presence of a certain stressed royal, Prince George.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dream/GeorgeNotFound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream SMP works [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2142981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Snickerdoodles For Your Self-Esteem</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This au will likely turn into a ship au, but I'm not sure how explicit or romantic it's going to get. Romance will be a subplot because this story runs on a different timeline, and yada yada. Also, like always, this fic ships the CHARACTERS Clay and George portray in the SMP, not the CCs themselves. If the CCs want this taken down, down it will go.</p><p>Also! This fic is part of a series I'm doing about Dream SMP works. This one is NOT connected to the one before it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t every day you saw the sight of an aristocrat entering a dazzlingly enchanted bakery, lodged on the outskirts of a prosperous city where the least customers dwelled, adorned in a fiery red cape clutching a scepter with a sapphire easily the size of a small melon. He passed with ease through the curtains of lichen and bramble, moving expertly through tables of well worn mahogany wood, cluttered with crumbs or hastily thrown coins left for the few staff to collect. </p><p>And it wasn’t every day this aristocrat sat at the table closest to the counter, looking easily through thick white rimmed goggles at a man wearing a white ceramic mask with a neat smiley face standing behind it. </p><p>“Your Highness,” the masked man lulled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He swept a leather gloved hand across a vast assortment of sweets, perfectly crisped and golden snickerdoodles with just the right amount of cinnamon dusting the tops, fresh baked chocolate chip cookies that just <i>scream</i> melt-in-your-mouth kind of gooey, you name it, it’s there. </p><p>“I need a batch of snickerdoodles,” the aristocrat responded, an English accent heavy in his words. The baker raised an eyebrow behind his mask, not missing the way the rich man’s voice trembled oh-so slightly at the end of his sentence. </p><p>“Good for self esteem,” he noted casually, turning to grab a bag and a pair of tongs. “They’re enchanted to be that way.” </p><p>The aristocrat merely inclined his head in the most subtle form of a nod. He thought that maybe it would have been a better idea to leave this work to one of his many and multiple servants to do, but he reckoned if any word of his ‘strange request’ got to either of his parents, he’d be facing hefty reputational consequences. He was lucky that the store was empty, at least for the moment. </p><p>It was when he returned from bagging up his order that the aristocrat caught the name signed on the baker’s badge: Dream. “Thank you, Dream.” He said, tone holding very little kindness despite the lack of expectancy for it. The royals weren’t particularly known for their benignity. He was no exception. </p><p>“No problem,” was all Dream responded with a nod in turn, barely hesitating to take the small stack of golden coins dropped onto his countertop. Again, an eyebrow was raised, but by the time he looked up, all that was left of the aristocrat was a flourish of a red cape disappearing through a closing door. </p><p>“Interesting character, that one is.” Dream murmured, his voice echoing very slightly in the bakery. “But I don’t expect that will be the last of Prince George here.” </p><p>*** </p><p>George felt the blood rush to his ears when he left Dream’s little bakery, hating the way townspeople looked at him with incredulity or strange curiosity in their eyes when they saw him, a bag clutched to his chest that read “<i>Artem de magia et in cibum</i>” in Latin, translating to “The art of magic and food”. What a stupid name, really. Probably a fraud, too. Implemented placebo effects designed to rewire your conscious to thinking that maybe something as stupid as a pastry had a chance at benefitting you, even if that was absolutely impossible… </p><p>So then, why did George buy so many? </p><p>Simple, because he was desperate. The weight of his kingdom’s future rested solely on his shoulders. With his mother sick and his father missing and God knows where, he was given the responsibility of maintaining this land in its Golden Age until either his father comes back, or he’s old enough to be crowned King of Invicta. </p><p>With each and every stupid, mindless mistake he’s made, his confidence in his ability to handle the pressure decreased more and more with every passing second. If snickerdoodles claiming they’d increase self esteem were even remotely real, by God he’d sell an arm and a leg for the very chance. </p><p>And so when George arrived home, covered from head to toe in the judging stares of his people, he’s keen to get through the palace halls and into his room as quickly as possible. As always, he’s faced with a minor obstacle. Servants flock around him at his beck and call, asking almost desperately for tasks to be assigned to, for anything that they can do to convenience him, and George is eager to send them away, too busy and preoccupied in his mind to pay them any notice. </p><p>“You are all dismissed. Tend to my mother, not to me. I do not require your help.” George said, tone icy and clear with his intentions. </p><p>Still, one of the pestering buggers looked at him with wide eyes, hands outstretched. “Your Highness, let me take that bag up to your quarters for you, allow me to be of use.” </p><p>“I said no, you are dismissed. Busy yourself with something else, I am more than capable of carrying a bag to my own room.” He snapped, patience ebbing thin. </p><p>Thankfully, they didn’t need to be sent away a third time, and they quickly dismissed themselves from his sights to do whatever else they were expected to do. <i>Surely</i>, there was something better for them to do in this giant palace, anyway. </p><p>Upon entering his living quarters, he paid no mind to the massively luxurious space surrounding him and instead walked straight to his desk, dropping a satchel he’d had underneath his cloak and his questionable pastries on top of the fine dalbergia wood surface. He sat down on his chair, sinking easily into the literally levitating wooden framed velvet pillows, staring momentarily at a large orb floating on the corner of his desk offering him a perfect view of the streets outside. </p><p>Finally sighing, he waved a hand and the orb returned to wherever it had came from. George leaned forward, grabbing the bag of pastries, then flicked one of the snickerdoodles out from the bag. “So, allegedly this is supposed to make me stop feeling all miserable, right?” He mused, not entirely trying to be pessimistic but highly doubting a commoner would have access to the kind of materials and education to make these properly enchanted. </p><p>Regardless, he took a bite, and instantaneously felt his shoulders ease. The pestering thoughts in his head silenced like muzzled dogs, and the relief George felt was quite immense. A simple happiness overcame him and he leaned back, enjoying the bliss of the situation. To his almost immediate dismay, however, the thoughts started to come back and George was quick to take another bite, devouring the rest of the snickerdoodle like he hadn’t eaten for days. </p><p>He figured he could get quite a lot of stuff done with this nifty trick in his pocket. The masked baker, Dream, really did him a favor. George wondered, briefly, who Dream was. What kind of <i>commoner</i> had access to this kind of magic, anyway? Even George, a royal, didn’t have those kinds of abilities, but that wasn’t particularly surprising. The royal family was born from ice and harbored it in their veins, being most proficient with water and snow rather than fire or heat. </p><p>So, how? </p><p><i>Strange character</i>. George ended up thinking, dragging his bottom lip in between his teeth and weathering away at the skin until he shrugged the thought away, deciding he’d ask the next time he saw him. He would be going back for more of these snickerdoodles, after all.</p><p>He ate another one and enjoyed the blast of cinnamon and traces of smoke on his tongue. He could literally feel the effects of the magic working into his system, filling him up with a tingling sensation like when you suddenly feel a blast of cold air. </p><p>For the time being, he could appreciate the much needed quiet in his head. Surprisingly or not, George found himself drifting off into a light sumber, right there on his desk chair with his feet propped up on the wood. It had been the best sleep he’d gotten since the news of his mother. </p><p>***</p><p>It was business as usual, in Dream’s eyes. With a new batch of chocolate chip cookies fresh in the oven, he had frankly nothing to do apart from sit around and wait for another customer to come in the door. Yells and shouts from the back room caught his attention every now and then, but aside from that, he was relatively calm. </p><p>Raising a slender hand, he plucked off his mask and rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, rifling his hand through his hair with a fervent intensity. He was quick to raise his head at the detection of the slightest footstep coming down the hallway, leading him to flick his mask back on over his face. The tell-tale sound of bells ringing from the storefront door set off a little alarm in his ear, a stupidly easy spell he’d set up on the first day he’d opened shop. </p><p>To his surprise, the man who stood before him now was none other than Sapnap, adorned in the same outfit he always wore: a white shirt with a flickering flame moving on the front, a dark cloak blanketing his shoulders, black rings on his fingers, and, to top it off, his flowing white bandana that seemed to get longer with every passing day. </p><p>“Sapnap,” Dream greeted, a smile evident in his voice. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, how’s it going, Dream?” He chimed, as good spirited as always. Dream’s smile grew into a grin and he stood up, sauntering towards the counter to lean his shoulders on the surface. </p><p>“Good. Today’s been quiet,” he responded with a hum, studying Sapnap momentarily. A pouch hung at his side that rattled with the sound of coins with every step he took. “Looks like quite the opposite for you, though. Robbed more people, I’m guessing?” </p><p>“You know it. The people at the edge of the kingdom think they’re so ‘rich and prosperous’ that they’re not at risk of being <i>robbed</i>.” Sapnap stated, earring a barking laugh from Dream. </p><p>“I told you I can give you gold if you’re really that poor,” he reminded him in a chiding tone, amusement evident in every crack of a syllable he spoke. </p><p>“God, no, that takes out the fun of it.” His friend pulled a face, features contorting into a look of joking disgust. Dream rolled his eyes beneath the mask. </p><p>Minutes of gentle and pleasant banter rolled around the air between the pair, laughs filling the already cozy atmosphere with a lulling note of familiarity and comfort. Sapnap’s smiles, Dream’s jokes, the crackling of the oven behind them all felt like home. </p><p>Unfortunately, the bliss was abruptly interrupted by the rambunctious pair who’d been screaming in the back room breaking into the area behind the counter. Tommy, closely followed by Tubbo, half walked-half ran into the already occupied area, covered head to toe in a thick dough that glittered with a beautiful shade of sapphire blue. </p><p>“<i>What<i> did you two do?” Dream gawked, staring at the cupcake batter that was supposed to be baked and on display within the next two hours. </i></i></p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Tubbo disentangled himself from his blonde friend’s grasp, flicking sparkling dough from his fingers off at Tommy before turning his honey eyed stare over to Dream, an apologetic look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tommy jumped in instead. “Well, Big Man, I don’t know if you can tell, but we kind of got into a little brawl and your very inconveniently placed batter bowl was in our path of destruction, so really it was your fault for putting it there.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Tubbo stared at Tommy, his expression practically screaming ‘You’re an idiot’ despite his silence. Dream lifted a hand and tugged it through his hair, willing his composure to maintain so he didn’t snap Tommy’s neck right then and there, even if he would never do such a thing. “Tommy. Go back there and remake the batter, and I swear to <i>God</i> if it’s not ready in fifteen minutes, you’ll have Hell to pay.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Tubbo gave Tommy a wide eyed stare, although his lips were quirked up with vivid amusement. “Looks like someone’s in trouble,” he mused. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Tommy glowered at him, unimpressed. “This is your shit, too, Tubbo. Come and help me, I’m not making brownies by myself.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Sapnap started laughing from where he’d been rather calmly watching, wearing a large grin and an overly entertained expression. “Dream! Why’d you get so mad, oh my God!” He all but cackled, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You have <i>no</i> idea how long it takes to gather some of the ingredients for this stuff,” Dream muttered, evidently irritated but laid back enough to not mention the extent of it. “I’m just glad my last supply run happened to take a route with more stuff than they usually do.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“What kind of stuff?” Sapnap asked, raising an eyebrow. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dream merely glanced at him through his mask, dropping his hands into his pockets. “Some things you’re better off not knowing,” he murmured. “‘Ignorance is bliss’, is it not?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“That’s debatable,” his friend glanced off to the side, raising a hand to scratch absently at the back of his head, fingers briefly passing through the dangling straps of his bandana before his hand retreated into the pocket of his cloak. “But I’ll take your word for it. Not like I have much other choice,” he added with a snort. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dream merely nodded by way of response, the slight inclination of his head drawing shadows onto the front of his mask, casting the porcelain white into a slate gray. The glow of the embers in the oven behind him ceased to cast their light on the bakery and yet another jingling bell sound filled its absence. Dream turned and whisked the cookies out of the oven, dutifully shoveling them onto the display window while keeping the rest in an enchanted cabinet to keep them perfectly warm and gooey, like they were fresh out of the oven despite how many hours passed until they’d sell. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Do the cookies on the display window stay warm?” Sapnap asked, breaking the lasping silence. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The baker twirled the tongs he’d been holding in a fingerless gloved hand before setting them on a plate behind the display. “No, they don’t,” he replied absently, flicking a short stack of colored napkins out of a drawer and setting them within customer reach. “But usually we have enough in the cabinet so I don’t have to sell the ones on display. Think of them as decorative, I guess.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“So what happens to those cookies at the end of the day?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Well, either I sell them after setting a heat charm on them so it seems like nothing’s changed, or I toss them out.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You throw away <i>cookies</i>?” Sapnap’s  face twisted into bewilderment and shock, like even the thought of doing such a thing was a heinous crime. To be fair, it was. Unsafe disposal of enchanted and magical items was unlawful and could be punished with some pretty hefty fines. Dream was damn lucky he’d always flown under the radar, but it probably wouldn’t last much longer if inconveniences like this continued to occur. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yes, and before you tell me it’s dangerous or stupid, I know.” Dream rolled his eyes, “but I have a way of dealing with things and my luck hasn’t been off once since I opened shop here. I think it’s fine.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“It’s reckless,” Sapnap affirmed. Dream nodded his acknowledgement, but the rogue knew better than to try and convince him out of it. So, instead, he changed the topic. “Is this place even licensed or legal?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dream barked a laugh, the characteristic wheeze following soon after. “C’mon now, you seriously think Prince George would’ve sauntered in here without giving me an earful of nonsense if this place <i>wasn’t</i> legal? It’s missing the ‘Registry of Memory Charms’ license, but that’s about it.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“So it could be worse,” Sapnap mused. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“It could’ve been <i>much</i> worse,” Dream agreed. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The rogue stepped back suddenly, a satisfied smile gracing his features. He turned and flourished a hand through the air with about as much grace as a scoundrel could manage, which wasn’t very much, then turned, his back facing his friend. He tossed his chin over his shoulder in a quick look back, a grin plastered on his face to replace the previous smile. “Well, I’ve got more stuff to take care of for today,” Sapnap mused, waving a hand in a brief goodbye gesture. Dream inclined his head, sorting his hands back into his pockets. “I’ll swing ‘round again soon. See ya, Dream.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Sapnap blew a kiss to the baker, resulting in another hidden eye roll, then sauntered out to the streets where he’d come from. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Dream watched him disappear through the windows of the bakery, then hopped the counter, deciding the best thing he could do in the moment was wait, either for the boys in the back to finish up the batter or for another customer to visit.</i>
  </i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. To-Do Lists From Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>George gets a letter from his father, but it's nothing you'd normally expect from a King. </p>
<p>Looks like things are going to get a lot more difficult around here...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wow! This took a lot longer to get out than anticipated. Schoolwork totally blew up in my face and writing block came around and decided it'd be wonderful to have a long visit, so... Yikes. Hopefully this is somewhat better than last time?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the last precious sliver of snickerdoodle disappeared in George’s mouth, it was much too soon. He realized he should probably feel some sort of bad about the fact that he’d eaten half a dozen of the sugary cookies in the span of an hour, but he couldn’t bother himself with caring. He’d originally planned on postponing his next visit to that bakery, but faced with the reality that these allegedly magical cookies were, in fact, real and working, he figured he’d allow himself to spiral at least a little bit into the convenience of them and take the trip sooner than originally intended.</p>
<p>“Holy hell,” George grumbled under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in between his forefinger and thumb. Figurative sirens warning of a headache rumbled in the back of his skull like thunder, and he was momentarily blinded by the realization that the enchantments in the cookies could actually be hazardous to the magic he possessed naturally. But, whatever, he decided. His body ought to put up with it because he didn’t particularly care, and the blissful thoughtlessness he’d been supplied with made any future consequences well worth it. </p>
<p>The tell-tale rapping on his door followed by a <i>thhhk</i> sound announced the rather dreaded presence of a scroll being shoved through the fine slot in his door. The gentle <i>thump</i> of the parchment hitting the silver bin his servants had propped up under the door years before brought his downcasted stare to look at it, unimpressed and bordering irritated at the revelation that it was either an assignment he’d need to do, or a beckoning from a higher royal in the palace. </p>
<p>Striding over, George flicked the scroll into his hand and peered at the wax seal holding the pages together. A glittering golden letter ‘D’ perfectly printed in the center of the rich red colored wax almost demanded his attention, which he gave with utmost scorn. With an elegance unknown to many, George opened the letter and pulled it to his nose, brown eyes narrowing behind the lenses of his clout goggles. </p>
<p>George, </p>
<p>I understand that a great many things have been playing on your mind recently, but running away from the palace to mill with commoners in barely heard of businesses is not something you are at liberty to waste your time doing. Time is money, is it not? The following is a list of assignments you, as future King, will be expected to complete. </p>
<p>Review the peace treaty with the Kingdom of Satura<br/>Settle the skirmish between our Knights and Mages <br/>Assign a new Head Spellcaster<br/>Review the breaches in Law &amp; Order from the last two weeks <br/>Begin preparations for the Spring Festival <br/>Review Catacomb security</p>
<p>Best of luck will be wished to you, as always, George. </p>
<p>Your Father, <br/>King of Invicta <br/><i>[Location Undisclosed]</i> </p>
<p>George’s head promptly responded to the job list with another painful pang and with a brisk movement of his free hand, his fingers were pressed gingerly to his temple, eyes closing to block out his view of his greatly unappreciated list of ‘responsibilities’ and the suddenly far too bright light that came into his quarters. George strode back across the room to his desk, casting the letter away, then snapped his fingers. </p>
<p>Embroidered curtains coated in the finest layer of gold and decorated with vast assortments of incredibly rare gems snapped closed, driven by the magic flowing through George’s veins and the simple hand command they’d been taught to respond to. </p>
<p>No matter how strange it seemed, everything in this world was very much alive. They lacked the fundamentals that made them human, but lived and listened for certain keywords in their own right. Some types of trees, gifted by Spellcasters of the past or Gods and Goddesses themselves, had the ability to speak and listen to all words, but everyday objects like tables and curtains could only move by themselves in ways that they are previously cued to do, also by magic. </p>
<p>Growing up, kids are taught to respect the world around them, and recognize that magic runs through everything, from the pencil in their hands to the palace walls itself. And, by the same token, everything could be controlled with ease if prompted correctly, like George’s curtains. </p>
<p>George peered once more at the letter he’d been sent, reviewing his assignments while simultaneously forcing the frustration in his gut down to a calm, simmering heat. Assigning a new Head Spellcaster would likely be the most beneficial task to finish first, and it would greatly lessen the tensions between the Knights and the Mages, who are both partially under the Spellcasters’ control. Hierarchically speaking, if George was at the top of the system, the Council would be directly beneath him, followed by the Head Spellcasters, the Spellcasters beneath that, and then branching off to the sides, the Knights, Mages, and Warlocks. </p>
<p>He decided with an assertive nod to himself that that would be the first task he’d do, and to benefit that, he already had a brilliant person in mind. It was time, he supposed, to find BadBoyHalo. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The palace was divided into multiple segments, and not all of them were explicitly for the royals’ use. The North wing was, which is where George’s more than glamorous quarters lay. The East wing was for the Knights, Mages and Warlocks and the few designated rooms where the King does his business, separate from the East (where he also has multiple ‘task rooms’). The South was for the kitchen and palace servants, and the West was for the nobility, specifically the Spellcaster and Council wing. </p>
<p>It was there, in the West Wing, where George found BadBoyHalo. </p>
<p>“Bad,” he greeted, head tilting in a nod of acknowledgement, similar to a way a friend would greet another friend. </p>
<p>Bad turned from where he’d been busying himself with a spellbook, fingers gray at the tips from several highly complicated combustion spells he’d been practicing working with. Almost at once, he turned and scrambled to his feet, eager to courtesy the future King and greet him with a manner of utmost respect. </p>
<p>George sighed and dismissively waved a hand, and Bad ceased his tiringly respectful welcome gestures. </p>
<p>“Bad,” George repeated. </p>
<p>“Hello, George,” Bad murmured, a smile in his voice. “How can I be of service to you?” </p>
<p>“C’mon, drop the act,” George groaned. “We’ve been friends since we were, like, eight. You don’t need to be so polite with me, you know that.” </p>
<p>“I know, but you’re set to be the King, and you’re well on that path, too!” The Spellcaster insisted, waving his demonic hands around to accentuate his point. “I should treat you with some type of respect, at the very least.” </p>
<p>“And you do, otherwise my father would have your head on a spike,” George protested. “Don’t make me use my big, fancy, Prince title to order you to stop acting like I’m a royal. To be honest, I’m pretty tired of it.” George said with another heaved sigh. </p>
<p>Bad lifted his hands in surrender, exhaling a sigh of his own. “That’s fair enough, I guess. But still, what brings you down here? You fancy people usually spend your time up in the North Wing,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow. </p>
<p>“I came down to talk to you, obviously. It’s actually pretty important.” George said, fitting his hands safely on the grooves of his hips. He noted how Bad’s shoulders slightly stiffened, displaying his sudden anxiousness. </p>
<p>“Hey, don’t start freaking out on me,” George prodded, rolling his eyes. “All I’ve got is a couple of questions. Chill out, you’re not in trouble.” </p>
<p>Bad narrowed his eyes, gaze trained firmly on George despite the absence of any color in his pure white stare. “Okay,” he said carefully, hesitance lacing every tone like a thick plaster of honey. </p>
<p>“I want you to answer this honestly,” George prompted. “Who, out of all of the Spellcasters here in Invicta, do you think is most deserving of a promotion to Head?” </p>
<p>Bad paused, a thoughtful look coming across his face, and his fingers came to settle at the base of his chin. His tail whisked across the ground behind him, brushing the grooves in the tile underfoot. “Well,” he said carefully, tapping at his chin again. “Understand that I’m biased, alright? Technoblade is talented, even if he hates the hierarchy and is a little untrustworthy. Punz is, too. And so is Skeppy! You see, everyone here is talented in their own right, and I think that everyone deserves a chance, but if you had to choose one person, I don’t think I’m the right person to ask about that. That’s a decision for you to make, George. Anyone here can handle it.” Bad explained with an encouraging smile. </p>
<p>George found himself feeling almost touched that Bad didn’t try to reverse his question to make himself look good and instead focused on giving him different options. Another pang of gratitude warmed his heart, and he clapped Bad on the shoulder, nodding decisively. “Right,” he murmured. “I have work to do, Bad, but I will definitely be seeing you later. Bye,” he said as he turned and waved, striding purposefully out of the West Wing. </p>
<p>He stopped inside the Cardinal Hall, where the four doorways branched off to each of the different, hesitating between going back to his quarters or to the area in the East Wing where he would have more access to paperwork and other arrays of miscellaneous resources he would surely need. Without much else consideration, he headed to the latter, pushing open the large door marked with a silver letter ‘E’. </p>
<p>The door creaked before moving to the side by itself, hissing as the fragrant wind locked on the other side of the door was released into the small hallway. The rest of the door slid open with ease now that the pressure from the inside had been released. George heaved a sigh of contentment at the specially enchanted smell sifting through his senses, feeling the miniature morale boost it supplied. </p>
<p>He heard a monotonous voice drawl from farther within the chamber, recognizing it instantly to be Technoblade’s. George merely nodded in the hybrid’s direction, earning a half-hearted wave in return, as well as a scowl and a rather bad attitude. George again rolled his eyes, lifting a hand to press his clout goggles farther up along the bridge of his nose, then heading forward with little less than a slight falter in his gait. </p>
<p>He pursued onward, thinking of the task at hand while other possibilities thrummed through his mind, hogging his attention and unfortunately drawing his current focus away from what, or who, he was about to walk into. The contact of his body against harsh metal sent him reeling backwards, a hand clutching the fine embroidery adorning his physique, and with a surprised stare, he looked forward and recognized the man he’d walked into to be Philza, the King’s advisor. And, by the looks of it, the man currently in charge of overseeing the Knight division in Technoblade’s place. </p>
<p>“My bad,” Philza rumbled, looking at George with a surprised look himself. George dismissed it with a brief shake of his head, making a move to swerve around the older man but unluckily being stopped by one of his outstretched wings barring his path. “George, wait a moment.” Philza said, eyebrows furrowing under the line of his bucket hat. “Where are you headed? Did the King give you an assignment already? It’s quite soon.” </p>
<p>George felt his eyebrow twitch with irritation, but he bit the inside of his gum to bite back a retort that it was none of the advisor’s business. “It’s not a problem, Phil, nothing I can’t handle.” George murmured, tone coated in ice. Phil studied him, then nodded slowly, stepping back and folding his wings behind him. </p>
<p>“Yeah, of course,” he murmured, looking away. “Then I’ll leave you be. But, if you need any help-” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If I need help, it will not be you I ask for it,” George rudely cut in, but a daggered look in Phil’s eyes stopped the older man from speaking. “I will be leaving now,” George added, and so he went, red cloak fluttering through the air as he turned on his heel, shoulders tense around his neck as he continued onward. </p>
<p>Behind him, he heard a rush of wind and the tell-tale <i>whoosh</i> of feathers and knew that Phil had flown off in whichever direction he saw fit. </p>
<p>George had, simply, a large pile on his plate. A new Head Spellcaster to appoint, a rift in the Kingdom’s fundamental Knight and Mage bonds to patch up, and a myriad of other things. On top of that, an impending Spring Festival, where again, all eyes will be on <i>him</i> and he’ll be without the assistance of the King or the Queen. </p>
<p><i>There goes the rest of my composure,</i> he thought with a bitter smile, wrapping his fingers around a door handle in front of him, knuckles turning momentarily white because of the strain. <i>Wonderful.</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Important stuff's going to start happening real soon. Stay tuned! &lt;3 </p>
<p>Comments and kudos always appreciated. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Small Price to Pay For Comfort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>George pays another visit to the bakery, and comes back with a head full of questions, a to-do list, and extra knowledge about the mysteriousness that is Dream.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Surprise, surprise. I didn't really have time to edit this chapter 'cause I'm behind on schedule (and in classes, wow), but hopefully you enjoy nonetheless.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George’s next visit to the Bakery was not one he necessarily intended to go on, but this time the Prince was smarter. He adorned himself in a disguise, provided to him by one of the dozens of pestering servants constantly bustling at his feet. He found that he quite liked his new outfit, too, and, looking himself over in the mirror was less of a hassle now that he wasn’t wearing over-the-top ‘Hello there, I’m royalty, look at me!’ clothes. </p>
<p>Blue jeans, cuffed at the bottoms, along with grey and white trainers and a brilliant turquoise blue t-shirt with a large red quare with <i>Error 404</i> in the center. He fixed up his laces, gave himself another thorough once-over one more time, then began heading down to the Kingdom streets where he was quite glad to realize he wasn’t recognized. At least not immediately. </p>
<p>“Is that Prince George?” He heard a woman whisper to another person somewhere off to the side, their stares boring holes into his shoulder. He purposefully ignored them, instead continuing to pursue his path towards Dream’s bakery. </p>
<p>He picked up the pace when someone squealed “Oh my gosh, it <i>is</i> the Prince!” behind him, forcing him to grit his teeth and start speed walking through the cobble streets, careful to avoid any potentially dangerous dips in the pavement or other peering pedestrians.</p>
<p> He hated the feeling of being swarmed, so it wasn’t a moment too soon that he arrived at the bakery, thoroughly ruffled and clearly uncomfortable. The door’s bell chimed and dozens of eyes gave way to just two, belonging to the Baker, Dream. </p>
<p>“Welcome,” Dream lulled from where he stood, elbows on the counter. “I figured you’d be back for another dozen eventually. Surprised it wasn’t yesterday.” </p>
<p>“I can go a million years without your stupid pastries, thank you very much.” George bit back, eyes narrowed behind his clout goggles. </p>
<p>“That won’t explain why you’re here now,” Dream unhelpfully remarked. George didn’t have a response for that one. </p>
<p>“Whatever.” He said instead, glowering at the ground. </p>
<p>“Well, what can I help you with?” Dream’s voice was full of the kind of amusement that George felt made his skin crawl. He wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or not. </p>
<p>“Just… Show me your menu.” George responded, tone betraying the bitterness he felt in that moment. </p>
<p>Dream turned and leaned down, momentarily disappearing behind the countertop while he rifled through what George presumed was a cabinet or a drawer of some type. A moment later, he reappeared with a paper in his clutches and his mask pushed slightly up on his face. </p>
<p>George was met with the sight of slightly revealed constellations of freckles, weathered red lips that made George wonder if he had a habit of biting them, and the subtlest flash of emerald green that disappeared just about as soon as it was there. George was dispelled into silence, uncontrolling of the singular thought that trickled into his mind, quietly at first, then finishing with the force of a river. </p>
<p><i>Beautiful,</i> he thought. <i>Beautiful.</i> </p>
<p>George dug the corner of his nail into his palm, preventing himself from allowing his thoughts to run away without his permission. </p>
<p>“Something wrong?” Dream mused, breaking the silence. His mask was now fitted back perfectly around his face, the only thing revealing there was a person under there being a few sparing locks of dirty blonde hair. </p>
<p>“Of course not,” George answered, a little too quickly and sharply. Dream slightly lifted his head, clearly noticing the change in response, but chose not to say anything of it. “Just give me the paper, Dream.” </p>
<p>Dream obliged, and George snatched it out of his hand with an ounce too much force. The corner tore clean off, still sturdy in Dream’s grip, and the masked man tilted his head to the right. George didn’t need him to take off his mask to know that he was grinning. </p>
<p>The Prince flushed, then straightened up the paper and used it to hide his face, pretending to be intensely studying the menu. </p>
<p>“You do realize that half of that is still in my hand, right?” Dream snorted, amusement in his voice quickly giving way to a wheeze that must’ve seriously rattled his body. That definitely didn’t sound healthy, but at least he seemed fine. </p>
<p>“Give it here, then!” George snapped, holding out his free hand. Dream lifted a gloved mitt to drop the paper in his palm, drawing his fleeting touch away just as quickly as he’d set it there. “Thank you.” He grumbled, fitting it against the edge where it had ripped. </p>
<p>He tried to make out the words, where letters would fade off into accumulations of jumbled and torn ink, unreadable and utterly unrecognizable. It didn’t help that little portraitures of certain goods lined the backgrounds, different varieties of muted yellows and the occasional splashes of blue, thanks to his ever annoying colorblindness. </p>
<p>He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice died on his tongue when the paper in his hands smoked at where the rip line was. A flash of black showed behind it, and the gap in the paper was healed, brand new like it had been moments beforehand. Dream’s gloved hand retreated back to the side, sliding into the front of his hoodie. “Better?” He mused. </p>
<p>George shut his mouth to suppress the retort on his tongue. “Yes.” </p>
<p>Dream laughed again, leaning back against his counter while George was left to ponder over the selection before him. Cookies of all different flavors sporting tone of different effects, carrot cakes for increased vision, red velvet for illusions of love… Almost anything he could think of, there was a correlating item. </p>
<p>“I have a lot on my agenda. What do you recommend for… that?” George said, hesitant to speak anything that might reveal some of what he, as Prince, needed to get done. </p>
<p>“My self confidence snickerdoodles seemed to be a hit with you. So, more of those probably won’t hurt.” The baker responded, a teasing lilt palpable in his tone. George glared at him. “And, probably, composure croissants, intuition ice pops, decision-making donuts… I guess it depends on what you have to do.” He shrugged, shoulders rolling languidly around his neck. </p>
<p>“A lot, quite frankly.” George quipped, a frown edging his features. </p>
<p>Dream studied him, nodding slowly. “Well, I know you have a spring festival to organize. You can get your committee to do that, though, can’t you?” </p>
<p>“‘Committee’?” George echoed. His eyebrows scaled his forehead, almost disappearing into his hairline. “And how would you, a commoner, know about that?” </p>
<p>“Wow, Georgie, I’m insulted you’d assume I’m a commoner.” Dream said, clutching his chest in an over dramaticized reaction. “I’m not some kind of pleb.” George looked at him skeptically and Dream gawked, hands wildly waving around. “What? You think a commoner has access to these kinds of spells? Surely it’s crossed your mind that that’s, like, impossible.” </p>
<p>“I assumed it wasn’t you who did the baking.” George lied, uneasily. </p>
<p>“Even if that was the case, it wouldn’t make sense. I am the baker here, and I own, well rather, <i>won</i> this establishment. I am the one who has access to the spells put into these pastries, along with all of the ingredients.” Dream explained, smirking behind his mask. </p>
<p>George let out a thoughtful hum, crossing his arms and drumming his fingers on the juncture of his elbow. “Well then,” he said, casually and disinterested sounding, “that seems wonderful for you, Dream.” </p>
<p>“It is.” Dream responded, tone lacking the enthusiasm he carried a moment beforehand. </p>
<p>Silence lapsed between the pair, Dream quietly shuffling his hands together in his pocket, George contemplating speaking again. “...Where do you get these ingredients?” He asked at last. </p>
<p>He could hear Dream’s smile in his voice when he responded. “Aw, I knew you cared, Georgie!” He chimed. George rolled his eyes yet again. </p>
<p>“Just tell me, Dream,” he sighed. </p>
<p>The energy in the room died just as quickly as it appeared and George watched with narrowed eyes as Dream merely shrugged, brushing off the topic like it had been nothing. Objectively, it was nothing, but his behavior did not assist at all with George’s curiosity. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It doesn’t really matter. Just around.” Dream hummed. </p>
<p>“‘Around’ can mean a lot of things. Is someone selling these kinds of ingredients in the market? You know how seriously illegal the transactions are for both parties.” George warned, hands curling into irritated fists at his sides. </p>
<p>Dream shook his head, slowly. “No, I don’t need to buy them. I possess the magic myself. That’s all I can tell you, George.” </p>
<p>“It’s almost as if you don’t realize there’s a private library filled floor to ceiling with citizen scrolls in the palace. I can easily find who you really are, Dream.” George pointed out, gritting his teeth. </p>
<p>The man in the green hoodie before him released a dry laugh. “I’m wearing a mask, and my name is an alias. There’s no way you’ll be able to find me. No one knows who I am.” </p>
<p>“You’re also forgetting I’m the Prince of this kingdom. If I want to see your stupid face and get your stupid name, I can easily find out.” The brunette retaliated, huffing. </p>
<p>Dream stayed silent, instead shaking his head. “Sounds like you’re obsessed with me.” He said at last, words so clearly a joke yet not even remotely helping with George’s frustration.</p>
<p>The Prince heaved out a groan, that quickly deteriorated into an extremely strained laugh. “Dream on.” He managed through whatever weird breathing he was currently going through. Dream <i>tssked</i> at the stupid joke, but his smile was practically palpable in the room’s atmosphere. </p>
<p>“Bad joke, idiot.” He scoffed, but laughed nonetheless. George’s lips tugged loosely upwards in a weak and barely genuine smile. </p>
<p>George didn’t reply, staring holes into the floor across the bakery, watching the way the discolored curtains rippled and distorted filtered in sunlight thanks to the breeze outside. </p>
<p>“Maybe you’ll find out one day.” Dream murmured, breaking the silence. George looked away from the curtain back to him, raising an eyebrow. </p>
<p>A somber silence drifted between them, energy crackling in the room like bolts of high voltage lightning, warning George of the potential sensitivity of the topic if he pursued it. George deduced then that Dream was the type to joke about things that are important or relevant but hesitate on actually revealing them. To an extent, it would make sense. Mysteries make sense. </p>
<p>“Oh?” George said, tone drifting barely above audible and just for the purpose of having a word out there. Dream could continue if he wanted, but it wasn’t necessary. </p>
<p>Dream didn’t speak again, however, merely nodding very slowly with his eyes focusing on something at the far side of the bakery. George suspected he wasn’t actually looking at anything at all, judging by the slow sway in his posture; the type of thing a person would do when they were lost in thought. </p>
<p>“Well, then I’ll leave it at that. Whip me up something, like I said earlier, and I’ll be off.” George murmured, spinning on his heel to stride towards a table. He sat in the chair, hiking his ankle up to rest on the opposite knee, then set his eyes on Dream once again. </p>
<p>“Sure you can afford it?” The baker teased, knowing his words were far less than necessary. George didn’t respond, only giving him a flat look while tousling in his jean’s pocket for a certain pouch. </p>
<p>He pulled out a relatively decent sized pocket bag that crinkled with the sounds of gold, sporting a beautifully rich royal blue with the King’s crest embroidered on the front of it. He dropped it promptly on the table he sat by, and the dull thud of money hitting the table was enough to speak for itself.  </p>
<p>Dream’s fingers hitched slightly against the table, and an air of surprise momentarily passed through the atmosphere. “Noted.” He murmured, tone rich with amusement. </p>
<p>“Chop chop, Dream.” George huffed, crossing his arms delicately in front of him. “I don’t have all day.” </p>
<p>“As you with, <i>Your Highness</i>,” Dream teased, then disappeared through one of three backdoors leading to the back of the bakery without another word. </p>
<p>George waited somewhat impatiently for Dream to reappear with whatever he was going to bring. At some point while he was gone, two young teenagers emerged from the front of the bakery, all loud banter and deranged laughter, movements purposeful as they walked through the small building towards the back. George stayed quiet, merely observing them silently, until the roaring conversation the boys were having was cut off rather abruptly and two pairs of bewildered eyes rested on the Prince. </p>
<p>“You act funny,” the blonde one said, resting a hand on his hip. “All with a weird air of elegance and other stupid shit, you.” </p>
<p>“Tommy, shut up, that’s Prince George!” His friend hissed at his side. </p>
<p>Tommy scoffed in disbelief, staring at the bespectacled brunette before glaring at his friend. “No way, Tubbo. Why would he be in here?” </p>
<p>“Did you <i>not</i> hear Dream say that the Prince visited a couple days ago?” Tubbo gawked, staring right back. </p>
<p>“You two are aware I can hear you, right? I am sat right here.” George grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, I’m just another person.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, with more magic than anyone in the entire Kingdom has! If the rumors are true, I mean.” Tubbo protested. “We’re meant to respect you, and all of that other stuff, Your, um, Highness.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, sure, but I’m dressed in street clothing and wearing clout glasses. Does it particularly look like I <i>want</i> to be recognized?” </p>
<p>That managed to silence the pair, who exchanged a silent glance, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, makes sense to me, Big Man.” Tommy relented. “I bet you’re lucky, though. You must get all the women from all types of different places.” </p>
<p>Tubbo bonked Tommy on the back of his head while George threw in an uninterested reply. “Doesn’t matter to me. Not my type of people.” </p>
<p>Tommy stared and Tubbo rolled his eyes, quick to clarify that the gesture was meant for his ‘insatiably stupid companion’. </p>
<p>Just then, largely to his convenience, Dream reemerged from the back room bearing a large bag, took a good look of the situation, then heaved a sigh. “George, you’ll have to excuse these morons. I’m sure they bothered you. Tommy, Tubbo, buzz off.” The masked man ordered. The teenagers gawked at Dream, stared at George one more time, then shuffled out, whispers clouding around them. </p>
<p>“They were eventful.” George merely stated, eyeing Dream. </p>
<p>“Always are. But they’re children, so it’s only to be expected.” Replied the baker with a mere shrug. “Although, they’re pretty entertaining to mess with.” </p>
<p>George raised an eyebrow but didn’t further comment, instead grabbed his bag of gold then tossed it over the counter to Dream. The baker’s free hand raised in a split second, fingers locking securely around the money pouch. “Thanks for the tip.” He said with a dry chuckle, since it was blatantly obvious to both of them without knowing that George was easily paying two to three times the amount that the pastries were worth. </p>
<p>“Sure.” The Prince replied, shrugging, before getting to his feet and closing the distance between him and the countertop. Dream slid the bag over towards him, and George took it with an appreciative nod and a curt wave of goodbye. </p>
<p>“I’ll be seeing you, George,” Dream called. George could see him standing there, white mask and simple smile as a hand waved ominously in the air. </p>
<p>George turned, then, and proceeded casually through the streets, armed with a hefty to-do list, a bag of pastries, and the thoughts of a slightly unsettling conversation with Dream heavy on his shoulders.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading, as always! Comments and kudos appreciated.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Just A Spark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Early chapter 'cause I don't know when the next one's gonna be out. I have a really jam packed schedule for the next week or so. Sorry in advance! :')</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stress. </p><p>Stress was the first thing that coursed through every vein in George’s body when he woke up the following morning upon settling his eyes on yet another scroll positioned on his nightstand. The King’s seal, wax and still bearing that same dreaded initial ‘D’ stared at him just the same way he stared at it. </p><p>“Holy hell,” he muttered, pushing himself up on nimble arms in a manner that lacked all grace and efficiency. He reached over, small hand curling around the far edge of the roll of parchment, then flicked it towards him, eyes scouring the surface before he decided to sit completely upright and open it. </p><p>The first thing that met his eyes was a feather, a beautifully rich green color, sporting eyes of blue and rings of pale yellow. George recognized it almost instantly to be a peacock’s tail feather. An apparent gift from his father. </p><p>The letter engraved on the parchment, in a stark red ink, went as follows: </p><p>---<br/>
George, </p><p>I have been made aware that you have been rustling around with the commoners in a specific bakery as of late. This establishment, as your punishment, will be closed unless you up the anty and finish your tasks. </p><p>I hereby forbid you from visiting said place until after the Festival. I have guards watching you from every which way, so I suggest you take my word seriously. </p><p>Get to work. I expected better from you. </p><p>Your Father,<br/>
King of Invicta<br/>
<i>[Location Undisclosed]</i><br/>
---</p><p>George groaned under his breath and clasped his hand firmly around the parchment, relishing in the crinkling feeling it gave as it broke in his grasp until it turned to ice, frozen by his irritation. The Prince hurled it to the floor, watching fragments of frozen stone scatter and break against the contact of his flooring, going every which way until it melted into small, inconsistent puddles he wouldn't’ bother to clean up.</p><p>“Silly if he thinks that’s going to stop me,” George fumed to himself, getting out of his bed with nothing but a bed sheet wrapped around his shoulders and torso. </p><p>A dull <i>thunk</i> sounded from outside his bedroom chambers, and the all too familiar sound of a sword being drawn out of its sheath was the next thing to meet his ears. George paused, then tousled a hand firmly through his hair, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from letting out a despairing noise. </p><p>Was this really how far the absent King was willing to go to make sure <i>his</i> duties were fulfilled in due time? How unfair. </p><p>With nothing to say about the matter, George supposed that it might just be better off if he started getting some of his tasks done immediately. And, unfortunately, there really was no time like the present. </p><p>So, minutes later, with a snickerdoodle in one hand and a donut in the other, George made his way out of his chambers, making sure to glare daggers just as sharp as the sword he’d heard earlier at the guard stationed there on the way out. </p><p>*** </p><p>The sun was setting by the time George had finished a mere handful of his tasks. </p><p>BadBoyHalo had been appointed Head Spellcaster, and he was settling into his new chambers and responsibilities far easier than George had anticipated him to. The constant arguing between the Knights and Mages consequently ended then, too. The catacomb security had been carefully looked at, and George was more than pleased to discover that no one had attempted to break out now that Technoblade was the one patrolling the prison halls more often than not. And finally, the Peace Treaty with Satura was signed and looked over. </p><p>All that was left for George to worry himself over was to review the breaches in Law &amp; Order, which he suspected would be a lot more paperwork than decision making, then to begin preparing for the Spring Festival. </p><p>That, he knew, would be saved for last. Sorting through piles and piles of files was easy enough, but making sure the entire Kingdom was entertained for a period of three full days was another feat entirely. He’d seen his mother struggle months in advance for the famous event, but had also seen her pull of majesties he hadn’t before thought was possible. </p><p>No pressure, George. </p><p>While the daylight continued waning and the promise of tomorrow burned brighter with ever fraction of sun that disappeared over the horizon, George decided he’d settle with the idea of tucking in a bit earlier so as to take care of the rest of his agenda for the following day. Of course, like anyone would, he didn’t particularly find himself excited by the idea of having a stack of papers to read through the following morning, but he wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on the idea and instead relished in the thought of a good night’s sleep now. </p><p>Unfortunately, as he drifted off into a feather light sleep, George found that dawn came sweeping over the horizon far too soon and he was roused by birdsong and budding orange light. </p><p>A strange feeling became of him as he roused, however. The uncanny sense that something <i>simply wasn’t right</i> dwelled in his mind like a plague, heightening his reactions while he searched for the source of whatever the wrongness tainting the air dwelled from. </p><p>He didn’t have to search long. A loud <i>bang</i> followed by a chorus of yells rippled in from the outside windows, a tell tale sign that something was wrong in the Kingdom streets. George rushed to his window, tripping over his bedsheets in his furvor, then flung open the curtains after haphazardly shouldering on a silken robe. </p><p>A fire, large and blazing with golden copper hues devoured several of the small houses. People swarmed through the streets, pointing and shouting what all sounded to be the same word. Barely discernible to George’s ear, the words “<i>Cestron! Cestron started the fire!</i>” rang.</p><p><i>Cestron.</i> George repeated the word, or name, rather, in his head multiple times, cringing at the way his stomach plummeted billions of meters in his slender body. </p><p>Cestron is a wide and beautiful Kingdom, known for its worship of the sun and stars. Its royal family is known for tranquility and wisdom, but also for harsh treatment and ferociousness when they see it fit. </p><p>George looked once again at the roaring flames, milky brown eyes reflecting the fires. Copper and gold, the colors of the fire. Copper and gold, the colors of <i>Cestron</i>. </p><p>George changed into his royal attire in record speed, sweeping out of his chambers in mere minutes with each footstep leading purposefully towards Cardinal Hall, where he shoved his shoulder into the door of the West Wing without taking any notice of the servant who’d quite literally dropped everything (a platter of newly cleaned silverware) to assist him. </p><p>He was met with, quite frankly, a mess. </p><p>BadBoyHalo, Skeppy, Technoblade, and a few others chatted earnestly with eachother, all wild hand movements and uncoordinated words. </p><p>“We should attack back!” Technoblade was insisting, hands clenched into fists at his sides, eyes blazing with anger. </p><p>Bad shook his head, trying desperately to quell the rage of his fellow Spellcaster. “No! We risk even more if we try to fight them. We <i>just</i> established peace with Satura, last thing we need is another battle!” </p><p>“My men are strong, we’ll bury those stupid fools.” Techno fired back with a glare. </p><p>Skeppy shrugged from where he stood next to Bad. “Well, we’ll be kind of like… sun eaters, if you think about it. That’s sick as hell.” </p><p>“Language, Skeppy! And that is <i>not</i> worth a war.” Bad huffed. </p><p>“How about we deal with this piece by piece?” George mulled when he arrived at their sides, standing regally with his small chest puffed out in an act of defiance. </p><p>“He’s awake.” Techno snickered, cold humor in his eyes. </p><p>George took no notice of the quip. “First off, how about we find out if Cestron is responsible for this or not? That’s a good place to start. The color of the fire could just be irony, or a stupid prank.” </p><p>Bad sighed, then nodded. “Okay. But let’s do this now. Your call, George, but I think we should get Phil to help us, too.” </p><p>George frowned, but nodded, looking to Techno. “Any idea where he is?” </p><p>“Why are you asking me?” </p><p>“Because he’s basically your dad. Duh.” Skeppy laughed. </p><p>“Whatever. He’s in the East Wing, doing East Wing stuff.” </p><p>“Very descriptive.” It was George’s turn to sigh now, and he rolled his eyes with an air of irritation. “We need to head to one of the meeting halls, anyway. We’ll find him on the way. Come on.” </p><p>With a flutter and the sound of fabric rippling through the air, the Prince and the three Spellcasters were on their way, grim faces outlining strong jawlines and drooped, stiff shoulders betraying the weight they all inevitably felt. </p><p>***</p><p>“Well, the first thing I think you lot should do is get your heads on straight. You won’t accomplish shit if you’re got your brains all rattled.” Philza said, now sat comfortably at one of the chairs lining the grand table in the meeting hall. </p><p>Techno grumbled something under his breath, and George pointedly looked away, despite knowing full well Philza was right, as always. Bad was nodding along to his words, while Skeppy was too focused staring at his hand, fingers laced with Bad’s, on the table. </p><p>“While you four were talking, presumably, I went and got some reports from some witnesses. Someone said a man with blonde-ish hair was spotted running away from the scene with a vial. One of the stores that was burnt was called ‘Alchemy Inn’, and they specialize in a variety of different potions that have different ailments, if you will. Popular reviews say that a lot of the magic has pretty serious repercussions, though. Maybe that’s what lead the culprit to burning it.” Philza explained, scrutinizing a ruffled paper he held tightly in his grip. </p><p>Relief danced with anxiety in George’s heart. “So, is it safe to assume it wasn’t Cestron?” He asked, shoving his clout goggles farther up the bridge of his nose with a finger. </p><p>Philza paused, reading, then looked up to meet his eyes. “For now, yeah, I’d say so. But that doesn’t mean this isn’t a serious problem.” </p><p>“A good game of huntin’, then? Sounds good to me.” Techno grinned from where he sat, legs crossed and cloak draped over his shoulder in a way that screamed regality despite the lack of royalty in his veins. A good look at Techno from even a King’s standard was enough to tell you this man was important and could move armies with the force of a whisper. </p><p>“Who is taking care of the fire right now?” Bad asked. George bit his lip. He’d forgotten about that bit. </p><p>“It’s a good thing our Mages specialize in ice and water magic, isn’t it? Some of them are handling it.” Philza said, cracking a smile. “George, what do you want us to do in the meantime? As our King in training, you need to handle some of these decisions.” </p><p>“You’re the King’s advisor, Phil. It’s probably wiser for you to handle these, seeing as they’re a bit more… critical.” George muttered uncertainly, a wave of insecurity for his abilities washing over him. </p><p>“I can’t do that.” Philza said calmly with a firm shake of his head. </p><p>“Alright. Philza, keep on top of discoveries about the fire. If anything points to hostility from Cestron, have Technoblade organize a brigade to be ready for a battle at a moment’s notice. A separate unit of <i>no more than six people</i> including Technoblade and myself will visit Cestron directly to ask their King what the meaning is. That will <i>only</i> happen with concrete proof of them being responsible.” George said, firmly despite his lack of experience and sureness. </p><p>“I think copper and yellow flames is going to be as ‘concrete’ as it gets,” Techno bitterly added. George shot him a silencing glare, and for a second the Prince was sure the Spellcaster was going to argue, but fortunately he didn’t. </p><p>“Bad, what is your strongest discovery spell at the moment?” George asked, turning to the Head Spellcaster. </p><p>Bad raised his free hand to his chin, tapping on it while he thoughtfully racked his brains. “Well, that’ll be <i>Acquisition</i>. I only recently learned it, so I might be a little rusty first go.” </p><p>George nodded, satisfied. “Alright, wonderful. Go to the scene with Phil and see if you find anything. Skeppy, you can organize a group of the mages below you to do some more research. Find out if the flames have any other type of magic in them we should know about, and how they’re that color. If Cestron is to blame, you will find sunflower powder and star fragments.” Skeppy nodded slowly, finally prying his eyes away from him and Bad’s hands to look at George, although the expression he got was far from interested. </p><p>“Is everyone clear?” George stood, hands pressed firmly on the surface of the table. </p><p>“Clear.” The other four repeated, standing up themselves. </p><p>“Then we meet back here at sunset. Don’t let me down.” The group assertively nodded to each other, and George’s lips quirked up in the traces of a smirk. He had an idea, one he would probably regret later, but it could prove to be more useful than anything else he, personally, could do. </p><p>He was going to pay a visit to a new friend, this time not for his services, but for his knowledge. </p><p>Dream.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed! Big plot stuff incoming. </p><p>Comments, past and future, are ALWAYS appreciated. You guys make my day. Mwah.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. It All Deviates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>George's questioning shifts into bigger revelations. Problems are all relative anyway, right?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Real short chapter, but enjoy nonetheless!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When George stepped out of the walls of his palace, the first thing he was aware of was a gentle downpour falling upon the center city. Shards of ice mixing with a soft onslaught of rain dappled his skin in sun caught beads, glinting through reflected light filtering through the cloud cover. The frantic murmur that had been present in the courtyard intensified when panicked eyes fell upon George and, like a tidal wave, they descended on the Prince.</p><p>Terrified voices with shaking statements and testaments fell on deaf ears, as there were simply too many people present for him to absorb any information. George slowly raised a hand, signaling for the continual chatter to stop. “Everyone,” he began, voice booming louder than he’d intended. “There is no need for panic. My closest group of men are handling it.” </p><p>“Where is the King?” One person shouted, far louder than the rest. George winced. Where <i>was</i> the King? </p><p>“Nearby,” he chose to lie. It wouldn’t help if they knew the truth. “He has been made aware of the situation and has asked me to handle it.” </p><p>“When will he be back?” The same voice cried. George chose not to answer this question, instead dismissing further words with a brisk wave of his already raised hand. </p><p>“Make way, and go to your homes. Stay clear of the fire and any buildings that surrounded it. Everything is under control.” George strode forward, hands shoved into the pockets of his dress pants. </p><p>The murmur and turmoil rose again as he rounded a corner, and the Prince couldn’t help but catch the low murmur of a voice muttering, “Sure doesn’t seem fine.” </p><p>*** </p><p>After a thankfully uneventful walk consisting of George rushing through busy streets and ignoring any arms tugging at him or his many adornments, he finally arrived where he was intended to. </p><p>“Dream!” He called, voice edging the sharpness of knives as he burst through the door. </p><p>The baker, at the far side of his bakery, stood talking in hushed voices with another man with stark black hair and a white bandana tied hastily around his forehead. While he seemed uncomfortable before George had entered, his unnerve got many times worse upon the Prince’s entry, and he was quick to shove one of his hands in the pockets of his blackened shorts. </p><p>Dream’s head snapped around, and the man next to him muttered something under his breath, throwing a fake smile and an exaggerated bow in George’s direction before leaving out what George could only assume was a back exit. </p><p>“Who was that?” George asked, voice tight with a little bit too much suspicion. </p><p>“A friend of mine. Am I not allowed to have friends, George?” Dream mused. George could hear the pout in his voice, but he could also hear the way his words cut off a little bit too short, and the amusement seemed a little bit too forced. </p><p>“What’s going on? Do you know anything about the fire?” George demanded, strolling forward and planting the heels of his palms firmly on the counter blocking him from Dream. </p><p>Dream shook his head, naturally. “The one in the courtyard? My friend told me it was an electrical one, and the Mages were handling it. Are they not?” </p><p>“They are. But the fire isn’t electrical, it had to have been created with magic. The flames were copper and yellow, and the people are thinking it was an attack from Cestron.” George explained, keeping narrowed eyes carefully trained on Dream. He had no reason to be suspicious of the baker, but the unease in his companion might be worrisome. </p><p>“It wasn’t Cestron.” Dream said with enough confidence to make George fully believe it. His thoughts spiraled, briefly, before George reeled them in again. “What makes you so sure?” </p><p>Dream stared at him, oddly quiet after a claim as assertive as his was. “Intuition, if you will.” </p><p>“I’ll need a better reason than that, Dream. You said you’re no commoner. That means you have access to more funds and magic than the regular person does. You have the type of materials to create these… anomalies. I need to know what you think.” George explained, gesturing wildly at their surroundings with a clear front of mild irritation. </p><p>“I’m a <i>baker</i>, George. What am I supposed to do?” Dream huffed, a little too much exhaustion evident in his tone. </p><p>“I don’t know, come and help me? Don’t make me decree it as an order. Come on.” The brunette snapped, his lip furling. “Consider it your responsibility as a citizen of Invicta.” </p><p>“I’m <i>not</i> a citizen. I don’t owe you anything.” The blonde’s fingers curled on the surface where they rested, an air of unease ruffling through him like a rough wind. </p><p>“What do you mean?” The Prince backed up, ever so slightly, clear distrust sparking in his eyes. How had he been associating with an outsider for all of this time? </p><p>“I don’t have to tell you.” Dream muttered. He lifted a hand and pushed up his mask. Again, George was met with the warm sight of sun dappled freckles and plush, bruised lips. George could tell just by the sight that Dream had a habit of biting his lip. He did, too. </p><p>“Well, if you had an ounce of courtesy or respect in your body, you would.” George quipped, a tone of deep disappointment resounding through the small, enchanted walls of the bakery. </p><p>His words seemed to strike a deep, resounding chord in Dream’s soul, as the baker’s shoulders tightened and a snarl edged its way across those lips of his, freckled cheeks furrowing and inevitably crinkling the eyes George wished he could see. </p><p>“What do you even know about me? What do <i>you</i> know of respect, anyway? Huh? Courtesy? You have to be kidding me.” Dream snapped, disconcerted and angry. </p><p>“That’s no way to talk to a Prince!” George retaliated, fists raised in another molten flash of irritation. </p><p>“There you go again! Using that stupid ‘Prince’ card just because you were born more privileged than others! Give me a break, you are just like all the other stupid royals. I thought you could’ve been different, George, I really did. Too bad you’re not.” Dream’s voice dropped just as quickly as it rose, and George was left staring in an electric silence. </p><p>Tension hung in the air like clouds of volcanic ash, where even the slightest spark from either side could be the catalyst to trigger another fire. </p><p>“...What do you mean, ‘other royals’?” George asked, quietly. </p><p>He again wondered who Dream was, and how he’d ended up here. Why Dream wore that stupid mask that covered half of his face, going by ‘Dream’ as a clear alias. How he had access to the magic he did, and how he clearly had quite a bit of money. How he hated royals, and was inevitably from a different Kingdom, since he wasn’t a citizen of Invicta. </p><p>His words were met by no answer, but George had enough information to start putting together the pieces by himself. </p><p>
  <i>Dream must be royalty.</i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hopefully that wasn't too bad. We're goin' back to plot next chapter, and there'll be quite a bit of clear ups about this one there! </p><p>My schedule's still hectic, but my writing motivation is wild so updates will be once a week or so (I hope).</p><p>edit on march 21st, 2021: hey loves! sorry chapter 6 is taking a while to get out. i got slammed busy with work, a random vacation my parents decided to take, and end of the quarter school stress. chapter 6 is absolutely in progress, but it's taking a minute. sorry everyone!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hopefully you liked the first chapter! This story is serving as a character study for myself, so they might seem totally out of character for a little while, but that's the purpose of this fic. </p><p>I'll update this as often as possible, but I've got a lot on my plate right now so patience is appreciated. </p><p>Comments and kudos are lovely, as always. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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